I Want to Hold Your Hand
by Rice Queen
Summary: Joaquin thinks of his lovers hands, and all the times he's held them. Joaquin/Manolo/Maria. Post movie.


A/N: I wanted to try something a bit different tonight. I watched the movie for the first time last night and wrote this up real quick. I intend to do more fic with them in the future. The style of this piece is also very different than what I usually do. I hope you like it!

It is very raw... very unedited. If people like it I'll fix it up though. :)

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Joaquin knows his lovers hands well. He knows how they feel on his body, through his hair, and holding his own. They had tried to keep their relationship secret of course. The small town was no place for any sort of love between more than a single man and woman. But gradually as time went by, it was not only Joaquin who became more bold with public displays of affection.

In the beginning, hands were all they had. He would walk to the market alongside Maria, who carried a basket in one arm and allowed her other to rest. They talked and laughed about this and that matter, a ring sparkling on her finger in the bright sun. It was the ring Joaquin had intended for her, gold and diamond, set with two stones beside. A dark onyx gem and sapphire nestled on either side. A new addition of course, after the town had been saved. He found his eyes drawn to it on occasion, smiling faintly at the implications unknown to all but the three, at the time. She, ever so gentle and discreet, ran her finger tips along the inside of his own hand, up his palm to his wrist.

Her hands are elegant and soft. Yet they are not weak, and possess a strength he is fully aware of. He knows how they feel clutching at his hair tightly, pulling, ever pulling for more. He knows too, how they feel gentle across his back, soothing scratch marks made not only by her but by their companion. He knows how kind her hands can be despite their strength, and that perhaps is why he loves them so.

If anyone notices that he closes his fingers around hers ever so briefly, they say nothing.

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When Manolo plays guitar his hands are constantly on the move. His fingers race across the strings with a quickness suitable only for that of a bull fighter. He is confident in his abilities to play well, and yet at times his movements are shy. Joaquin sees this in the subtle twitch of his index finger, when perhaps he lets a note play for too long. Or when he can see a member of his audience too clearly in the dark. Nerves are what get to him, and yet his hands remain steady at all other times.

Now is such a time, Joaquin thinks, as he sits in the crowd of onlookers. The light from above allows them all to see Manolo in all his glory, and yet prevents him from seeing the crowd clearly. It is this saving grace which allows him to play without concern, his voice floating over the crowd like clear water over smooth stones. Despite his voice, Joaquin finds his eyes drawn to his lovers hands.

They are large like his own, and yet smaller still. Perhaps his pointer finger is slightly disproportionate compared to his other fingers, and they are unusually long for a man of his size. Yet they are graceful holding his mighty swords, and even more so on his guitar strings. And still they can be no more graceful then when they are above his head, clutching a blanket for his own sanity.

Yes, Joaquin recalls the first time they made love, just the two of them alone. Of course it is wonderful to have Maria with them, but there was something about that time which he will always remember. Manolo had cried out for mercy as Joaquin worshipped his body. He called out for Maria and for Joaquin himself to end this pleasurable torture. His hands grasped tightly to the bedposts above him, his legs spread wide and wanton. His fingers were curled around the wood tightly, knuckles whitening. They were tense then, and so different from the concentrated and collected movements they now make. Yes, Joaquin knows better than anyone that hands can be just as expressive as faces.

He watches Manolo in the crowd, sitting alongside Maria. She watches her lover too, eyes bright with wonder. Her own hands are clasped in front of her, a fan in one and the other simply resting. The people are so captivated by Manolo that Joaquin isn't afraid to reach over and take her hand in his own. She does not turn to look at him, but her smile is all he needs to see to know that she feels the same way. Manolo puts their feelings of love into song, into sound. So different from the moans her hears in the night. This is something entirely different. He puts the sound of laughter and kind words into melody, weaving them together with the moans of desire to create something whole. There is love here, yes. So strong and powerful that it conquered death.

There was no doubt that Manolo returned not only for Maria.

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At other times, Joaquin watches their hands on each other. The night he returned late from catching a few bandits and returning them to the town jail. He enters their home quietly, so as not to disturb their sleep. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, noticing a faint glow from above. He climbs the steps cautiously, still on edge from his escapades. The sounds of lovemaking are heard from his room. From their room. Joaquin steps up to the door and peeks in, opening it just so.

What he sees from his stand point is something he will always treasure.

It is his lovers, Maria and Manolo both, laid out on the bed. He cannot see all of Manolo, in fact all he can see are the lean arms and hands. Maria sits atop him, moving her hips forward and back in a rhythm not unlike the songs Manolo sings. Her long hair flows freely behind her, and yet he gets a perfect view of her ass where it meets Manolo's thighs. Every time she raises herself he gets a peek of Manolo's cock. And though he himself has spent many an hour worshiping it, that is not what catches his attention. Their hands are raised, fingers locked together as they sway.

From this angle he can see Manolo's palm is eclipsing Maria's entire hand, and yet it is she who keeps his hand from slipping away. Her hand keeps them together, keeps them from falling apart. Joaquin watches for a time, feeling himself become aroused from the sight before him. His lovers fulfilling their desires is something he wishes for them himself, and still he makes no move to interrupt. He knows too well that he has had his time with Maria while Manolo plays late into the night. They deserve this. Joaquin reaches into the confines of his own pants to find his member aching. He does indulge himself then, stroking in time with the thrusting of Maria's hips. Her pace increases, and still he watches their hands together. And they must know he is there, because Maria turns to look at him the same time Manolo cries out his name.

"Joaquin!"

He reaches his climax the same moment they do. Joaquin does not compose himself before walking into the room. He has done nothing he is ashamed of, and has nothing to hide from his lovers. Maria reaches out a hand, slightly sweaty and flushes like the entirety of her body. Joaquin takes it in his own and allows himself to be pulled into the bed, where he falls besides the spent Manolo. The man is already nearly asleep, and yet turns his head to press his lips against Joaquin's. Maria cuddles into Manolo's chest, still clutching Joaquin's hand tightly across it. Usually Joaquin hates sleeping in his uniform.

This night he makes an exception.

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Through the next few weeks Joaquin is careful to avoid the public eye. Manolo had woken in the middle of the night and cried out for him. Another nightmare from his passing. Maria went to make tea while Joaquin held him. His hands, usually so smooth and cool are clammy and tremble in his grasp. He murmurs gentle words of love to his companion, carding fingers through his hair in an attempt at comfort. It works, and Manolo's laboured breath calms only just, turning into something else altogether. During this time he turns in Joaquin's lap, wrapping his legs around the taller mans waist and dropping heavy kisses on his neck. Joaquin makes no attempt to stop him, and makes every attempt to stop himself from ravishing the man on the spot. This is not the time, he thinks, to make love.

Manolo is insistent.

Giving in is not something Joaquin allows himself day to day. But seeing his lover so lost and afraid and needing him to be there... he breaks his own rule. He uses his own hands, hard and callused from fighting, to trace patterns on Manolo's skin. His mouth finds Manolo's and there is no struggle for dominance tonight. Manolo needs him to be strong now. And there is nothing Joaquin will not do.

If Maria hears the bed creaking from the kitchen beneath their room she says nothing. When she comes up to bed an hour later, three cups of tea on a tray, she enters the room to see Manolo and Joaquin both sweaty and sated. Manolo trembles for another reason now, and gratefully accepts the tea he is offered. Joaquin kisses Maria on the cheek in gratitude, and nurses his own hot cup.

The night is a long one, and all three fall asleep in each others arms.

It is the next morning Joaquin notices there is a scratch on his jaw, bright red against his skin. This is why he remains indoors that week.

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Maria is upset today. Her hands are clenched and skin pulled tight over bone. She paces the living room of their home, Manolo sitting on the couch hanging his head. Joaquin leans against the doorframe, eyes downcast. He is crying quietly to himself, unable to speak.

He has been seen kissing Manolo by the fountain this night. Joaquin had forgotten himself, forgotten their promise to keep it all a secret. They walked the streets together, laughing and talking about old times from their childhood. The streets are empty, not a single resident out so late. The bars are full and the only onlooker is a cat from the alley not far away. Joaquin looks up at the moon, so bright tonight, and gestures to it for Manolo to see. He wishes only for his lover to know the kind of beauty he sees in the world. Wishes to share it.

When Manolo does his entire body is alight. Joaquin has never seen the musician so enchanted before, and finds himself equally enchanted by a different sight. The tan face of Manolo is alight with the moons rays, his eyes gleaming at the beauty before him. Joaquin knows what overcomes him then. He takes Manolo into his arms, raking his eyes across his body and settling on his lips, slightly parted. He kisses him then, in the moonlight. The fountain trickles behind them, and he thinks perhaps he hears a door shut. But this is all distance, and the taste of his love on his tongue is mind blowing.

This is what has upset Maria. Her father has caught wind. He not only believes that Manolo is a worthless musician now, but that he is a sinner and is being unfaithful to her.

Which is entirely untrue.

Would that he could take that kiss back, Joaquin thinks. But then would he even if he could?

No.

They will deal with this together, as it should be. He looked down at the thick gold ring on his finger, the ring he can only wear inside this house. The two stones, onyx and diamond sparkle in the lamp light. He turns it on his finger to make sure its real. It is real, and, he thinks that perhaps its time for everyone else to know it too.

They head to bed long after four in the morning, exhausted and unwilling to face the trouble anymore.

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Their hands are locked together the next day. The three of them walk together to the market. Joaquin wears his ring proudly, and fears no man with his companions by his side. Manolo holds tightly to his hand, fingers entwined like their legs not so long ago. It is comforting, and Joaquin is grateful to have such a wonderful man in his life.

Opposite hand is squeezed, and Joaquin turns his attention away from the musician. Maria again holds the basket in one hand, her other grasping his. She walks with her hips swaying and chin held high. Not for the first time, her strength has him marvelling. Together they go on, ignoring the gasps and addressing the townsfolk as they are asked.

Yes. They are all together.

No. They do not live in the same house by coincidence.

Yes. They do have matching rings.

No. They do not sleep in separate beds.

Yes. It has been like this since Manolo's return.

No. They will not be moving anywhere anytime soon.

Yes. They are holding hands. Together.

And that, Joaquin thinks, is perhaps the most important thing of all. He will never let go of either of them. And they in turn will not let go of him.


End file.
